


Pouf

by erebones



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Photographer, M/M, Nude Modeling, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 05:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7964899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felix is a photographer who has convinced his friend Carver to model for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pouf

“It needs something more.”

“Like what?” Carver asked, shifting a little on his bed of silks. Felix tsked at him for moving, and he scowled. “If you try and put a flower between my teeth I swear I’ll bite you.”

“Easy, dog lord,” Felix said absently, deep in thought as he peered through the lens. It wasn’t meant to be an insult, and Carver knew it, so there was no answering bark as Carver leaned his head side to side in a vain attempt to stretch his tired muscles. “I’m thinking… a pouf.”

“A who?”

“A pouf. A little footstool made of… hang on.” He had already turned away, rummaging in the closet for a minute before withdrawing, dusty but triumphant, with the piece in question. Carver stared at it as if it were a small fuzzy creature Felix had pulled from his pocket instead of a perfectly valid set piece. 

“It looks Orlesian,” he grumbled as Felix approached with the pale ivory thing, subtly brocaded and lined with little cream braids.

“That’s because it  _ is _ Orlesian. And the latest fashion in high society salons.” Felix got one arm around the pouf and with the other coaxed Carver up higher on his side. “Put this underneath you. Under your ribs like—yes, perfect. Like you’re embracing it. It’s not supporting you, you are floating alongside it, like a cloud. Good. Hold that.”

Carver’s face shifted subtly, covering the tired, irritable set of his face with a veneer that was somehow both disinterested and alluring. He claimed he wasn’t  _ trying _ to look any particular way, it was just his resting face, but Felix knew he was just a natural. And in spite of his grumbling, he held the pose patiently as the shutter clicked away, the muted flash popping with every picture. When Felix had had his fill of the pouf, he switched positions and allowed Felix to open his legs, one knee slung wide and his hand resting flat on his belly as he stared across the expanse of silvery fabric to where Felix crouched with the camera. 

“Look at me, big boy,” Felix murmured, eyes on the display screen. “That’s it. Pretend I’m a one-night fling in a foreign city, and you’re seducing me back to bed for one more round before I escape into the night. Hrm.” He pulled back from the camera and looked at Carver directly, a slight frown wrinkling his brow. “Stop that.”

“What? I’m trying, okay?”

“You look constipated. Come on, Carv, work with me. This is the last day of the shoot, don’t flop on me now.”

Carver huffed and sat up abruptly, sending strategically-placed fake pearls scattering across the studio floor in all directions. Felix sighed, resigned to his fate, and sat back on his stool, camera balanced against his sternum as he watched Carver shake out a couple hours’ worth of posing. 

“Carv. Talk to me.”

He laced his fingers behind his head and stood tall, chest out and shoulders down, staring at the unforgiving white of the ceiling as he tried to gather his thoughts. “It’s nothing. Sorry. I’m just tired. Can I take five?”

“Take whatever you need,” Felix said, allowing his eyes to wander down the taut expanse of Carver’s back. “Can I get you anything? Water? Something stronger?”

“Water would be good,” Carver allowed, so Felix stepped outside the studio and motioned to the assistant waiting patiently outside. Normally he would have preferred to have the assistant  _ in _ the studio with him, but Carver was a finicky model, very new to the scene, and he had a bit of a hangup about being photographed in the nude. Frankly, he had nothing to be ashamed of, but then again, he  _ was  _ Fereldan. They had strange ideas about nakedness. If they were in Minrathous, Felix would take him to his favorite bathhouse and soon cure him of that. But alas, they were not, so he was forced to accept the water and shut the door behind him when he returned, already braced for Carver to be half-dressed in protest. 

But Carver was still bare, though clearly not entirely comfortable with it; he was sitting in the lumpy armchair in the corner, ankle over knee and head back, throat elongated to expose the sharp blades of his collarbones. Felix cleared his throat and came close, relieved when Carver took the water and drank without shrinking away. 

“Feeling better?”

“A bit.” He shook his head out and grimaced. “My hair’s probably all mussed.”

“Not too bad. I can fix it without having to call the stylist back in.” He bit back a smile at the blatant look of relief on his face and stepped up to the side of the chair. “Just lean forward a bit.”

Carver scooted to the edge of the seat, both feet flat on the floor, and Felix stepped between his knees. It was a startlingly provocative position; holding his breath, he tidied the swoops and swirls of Carver’s dark hair, reordering the fluffy shape that the stylist had coaxed into it before. Carver hummed, and he swore he could feel it reverberating through his fingers and down his wrists. He swallowed. 

“Feels good,” Carver said as Felix slid his fingertips down the nape of his neck. His thumbs dug into the tendons there and massaged. With every pass, Carver’s head dipped a little lower, and Felix’s blood thrummed a little hotter in his veins. 

_ You need to stop this before it goes too far _ . The voice of reason finally spoke, steadying the swimmy feeling in Felix’s head. He spread his fingers out and laid his hands flat on Carver’s shoulders, trying to pretend he wasn’t a little bit hard in his jeans. Carver took a breath and sat up, face pink. 

“Shall we get back to work?” Felix turned away, dusting off his hands, and scooped up his camera like a lifeline. 

“Yeah, sure. Just, um, hang on.” Carver stared at his feet a little bit longer before standing, and now he was bright red, turning a little bit flushed across his pale chest, a shade or two past sunkissed. Felix’s eyes dropped.  _ Oh _ . “Sorry. It’s—I’m sorry.”

“No no, don’t apologize,” Felix stammered.  _ Look away, look away, the poor man’s embarrassed enough already _ . But it was difficult. Carver was well-endowed when soft, but now he was even bigger, thick and drooping against his thigh, the foreskin starting to retract. His hands curled into awkward fists against his thighs. “I can work a-around…” He stopped, face warm. Maker, had it always been this hot in here? He tugged discretely at his collar and turned to allow Carver to get back into position. 

After a few minutes of awkwardness, Felix found his rhythm again and Carver relaxed. The flush was endearing, he thought, and any mottling could be smoothed in postprocessing. Then inspiration struck. 

“Can you kind of—lay on the pouf? Just your upper back, and arch a little bit. Yes, like that. Arms stretched over your head, one behind… yeah.”

It was a very vulnerable position. The angle of his torso meant he had to splay his legs a little and brace his feet on the floor, framing his erection and the taut shape of his bollocks underneath—his throat was exposed, as before, and to get a better angle Felix had to stand over him, feet to either side of his hips. Fully dressed and in power, he felt a bit dominating, with Carver spread out beneath him like a feast. He swallowed back the saliva pooling in his mouth and clicked the shutter. 

Carver flinched, just a little, when the flash went off, and when Felix glanced at the photo it was a little blurred, the silk sheets on the floor perfectly crisp and strewn with pearls and petals, but the long line of Carver’s body just a little ethereal, as if he were trapped between one moment and the next, ghost-like. 

Suddenly the idea of capturing any more photos felt wrong, dirty, like vandalizing the perfect innocence of Carver’s nakedness. But his hands seemed glued to the camera, and he couldn’t take his eyes away from the preview screen, where every curve and facet of Carver’s torso was thrown into stark relief. 

He was staring so intently that the touch on his calf sent him reeling. He gave a very undignified squawk and pitched forward, instinctively yanking the camera up with one hand and putting the other out to save his fall. He landed with an  _ oomph _ on his knees, straddling Carver’s lap, the camera strap cutting into his neck and his thighs very, very aware of the warmth and solidness of his perch. Under him, Carver cleared his throat, one hand steady on his thigh. 

“Er. All right?”

“I’m—I’m so sorry.” He closed his eyes, praying for a swift death. “I didn’t mean—I…”

“Hey. Easy, Fee, it’s not a big deal.” He squeezed his thigh gently and a sound escaped Felix unbidden, something between a groan and a whimper. Felix shut his eyes.  _ Any time you feel like striking me down, Maker… _

“Sorry,” he whispered aloud instead, keenly aware of the knob he was currently pressing into Carver’s lower abdomen. 

“Fee.” There was a bit of a shift, and then Carver was flat on his back, shoving the pouf out from under him. “Maker, that thing was uncomfortable. Fee, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Felix did so. The hand on his thigh squeezed and then gentled, grounding him and sending another jab of electricity shooting up his spine. Carver was still flushed, but there was a certainty to him now, an unwavering gaze that trapped Felix like the image on the screen had. But where the image had been cool, a little removed, like looking at a painting on a wall instead of at living flesh, Carver’s eyes and touch and breath were  _ real _ , illuminated by the stirring of arousal in his body. Felix licked his lips and eased back a little, taking some of the pressure off his thighs, and Carver’s lashes fluttered. 

“Put the camera down.” 

“But—”

“Put. The camera. Down.”

Gingerly, Felix unhooked the strap from around his neck and leaned over, setting the camera down well away from them. When he returned, it was to Carver’s hands sliding up his back, warm and sure. He fisted his hands in the silk beneath him and leaned down, hesitating just enough that only the tips of their noses brushed. 

“Is this a good idea?” he whispered, dazzled by the blue of Carver’s eyes so close to his own. 

“What about this  _ isn’t  _ a good idea?” Carver whispered back. There was a playful, flirty grin teasing the corners of his mouth that Felix longed to kiss, but he restrained himself. 

“You’re my friend, Carv. I… I don’t want to lose that.” Even as he spoke his hand was drifting, following the impressive rise of muscle in Carver’s shoulder and pectoral. Gooseflesh pebbled in the wake of his touch, and Carver’s hands tightened on his spread thighs. 

“If you don’t want to do this, just tell me. I won’t be offended.” Carver grimaced and looked away. “Extremely uncomfortable for a while, but not offended. And for the record, you… erm… doing  _ that _ is not helping matters.”

“Sorry,” Felix said, though he didn’t really feel sorry at all. Carver’s nipple was stiff and unyielding between his fingers, and he gave it another pinch before withdrawing. 

“Liar,” Carver breathed out against his lips. 

_ Fuck it _ , Felix decided, and he curled his hand tight in Carver’s hair, drawing him up for a kiss. Carver came easily with a deep sound of approval in his throat; his hands moved possessively to his arse and stayed there, massaging, as he devoured Felix’s mouth. Felix whimpered and arched his back, letting Carver’s grip guide him down, rutting against his hipbone, Carver’s prick hard and leaking through the thin, form-fitting linen of his trousers. 

“Want you,” Carver muttered, voice slippery from kisses. His hand was at the front of his crotch suddenly, fumbling with the clasps, but the pressure right where he needed it had him grinding down on Carver’s palm. “Maker, Fee, you’re so hard.”

“‘Course I am,” he gasped, embarrassed by his irrepressible reaction. He buried his face in the juncture of Carver’s throat and bit down with a whimper as Carver got his other hand down the back of his pants. “Fucking  _ void _ , Carv, your  _ hands _ .”

“Like that?” His first two fingers slid between the cheeks of his arse and rubbed, so gentle and precise that Felix felt himself leak a little into his smalls. 

Felix groaned in response and shoved back, belly arched down and teeth hooked neatly in the notch of his collarbone. Slowly Carver eased a finger into his body, and Felix quivered. It was tight and not altogether comfortable, but it coaxed something to life inside him nonetheless, a blaze that burned in his gut and made his spine clench with need. 

“Can I take your clothes off?” Carver whispered. 

“Quickly, please.” 

Without waiting for him to begin, Felix sat up and tore at the buttons on his shirt, eventually hauling the entire thing over his head. Carver’s hands slid up immediately, spreading across his ribs and plucking at his nipples until he had no recourse but to bend down and kiss him. Their tongues found each other immediately, hot and hungry; Carver fumbled open his trousers and reached inside, rubbing him through his smalls before Felix finally lost patience and shoved the waistband down under his balls to give him complete access. Carver wrapped his fist around his cock and gave it a few slow pulls. Felix’s lashes fluttered and he rolled his hips forward. 

“This is going to be over very, very quickly,” he confessed, staring down at where Carver’s fist pulled his foreskin over the head of his cock and back again. 

“Maybe it’s better that way.” Carver pushed himself up to sitting, cradling Felix in his lap with his free arm and nuzzling at the side of his face. “This isn’t exactly the most auspicious place to get up to no good.”

“Having second thoughts?”

“Maker forbid.”

Blunt teeth sank gingerly into his earlobe, and Felix felt his whole body quiver in Carver’s arms. Carver’s breath was ragged and his strokes grew short and taut—Felix turned his nose into the soft skin of his throat and kissed him there, and he fancied he could taste his pulse fluttering hard and fast beneath his tongue. 

“Fee,” Carver gasped, ragged, and with a thrum of eagerness, Felix reached down the front of him and finally took hold of his prick. It was impossibly hot and hard in his grip, and when he thumbed the slit he found the head already slick to the touch. “Maker fuck.”

“Is that good?”

“Too good,” he confessed, half-laughing into Felix’s throat. “I’m going to embarrass myself.”

“Please do.”

It didn’t take too much longer. Electrified by how easily Carver fell apart, Felix found his orgasm in a few sweet, furious minutes, biting twin red marks into the meat of his shoulder as he spilled across Carver’s hand. Carver’s crooning encouragement soon devolved into gasps and swallowed grunts, and then he was coming, too, hot stripes of semen lashing Felix’s hip and thigh with white. 

“Mmmmmm, fuck.” Carver heaved in a deep breath and sighed it out as he slumped, seemingly supported only by the weight of Felix in his lap. But he was more awake than he seemed—when Felix tried to lift away and free himself, his arms came around him tighter, and he mumbled an indiscernible protest into his chest. 

“We can’t stay like this,” Felix whispered, charmed in spite of himself. He combed his fingers through his hair, now dishevelled beyond repair, and kissed a bead of sweat from his brow. “I only rented the studio for a few hours.”

Carver sighed and his arms fell slack. “Fine. Not one for afterglow, then?”

“I’m being practical,” Felix retorted, a little bit stung. He got to his feet and righted his clothing, feeling the stickiness in his smalls very keenly. “I’m sorry, this was very out of line. We can forget about it if you prefer.”

“Well, I don’t prefer,” Carver said stoutly. There was the rustling sound of silk, and then Carver stood in front of him, naked and still semi-hard, hands on his hips and an unhappy moue on his kiss-bitten mouth. “I don’t know about you, but sex isn’t something I can easily forget. And I wouldn’t want to, anyway.” He reached out but didn’t quite make contact, like he was waiting for Felix to complete the gesture. Reluctantly, Felix put his hand in Carver’s. Like the sun coming out, Carver grinned and drew him in, close enough that he could feel Carver’s heat bleeding into him. “Like you said before, I don’t want to lose you as my friend. And, um, I know I’ve kind of done this out of order, but… d’you want to get coffee or something?”

“I would… really like that.” He relaxed a little bit more, and leaned in to kiss the sharp angle of Carver’s jaw. “Just let me get my things together.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this and forgot about it, which is weird because that NEVER happens to me XD. So enjoy this little surprise!


End file.
